Some Like It Hot
by flyspecks
Summary: Bolt is one of Staten Island's most reliable runners. She's got no interest in the rumours about an upcoming strike whatsoever, at least not until a certain Brooklyn leader joins the cause.
1. Chapter 1

It was a day like any other, the sun streaming relentlessly down in waves of unbearable heat. Bolt was at her usual street corner, peddling papers; not the typical profession for a girl, yet so much better than some of the other options offered her gender. She swiped her dark-brown hat off her head after placing her pile of afternoon _Advance_ editions on the cobblestone, patting the sweat off her brow with her forearm. She huffed slightly, irritated with the summer weather, and pushed her uneven, dusty-brown bangs back, replacing the cap. Bending over, she scratched the back of her neck and picked up the papers she'd rested on the ground. Prices had spiked recently, and Bolt had budgeted herself to twenty per edition slot. Licking her chapped lips, she cleared her throat. Improvising headlines came easily to many newsboys and girls who were no longer baby-faced, and considering Bolt had always had rather sharp, angular features she had perfected creating crowd-pleasing stories.

Leaning against the cool brick on the shaded side of the building behind her, Bolt pushed the sleeves of her green-and-beige checked shirt over her elbows, fanning herself with one paper before handing it off to a customer. She stomped her black-booted foot in frustration with the heat, rubbing the back of her leg with the other to ward off the flies that commonly gathered around the rancid working class after a sweltering few hours.

It wasn't until she was down to her last few papers that she noticed a newsboy that wasn't from around the area. Raising an eyebrow, she clutched her papers in her hand and made her way through the hordes of afternoon traffic until she was trotting along beside him. She tilted her head, blinking at him and pursing her lips. He had droopy blonde hair, hidden beneath a dark cap; his blue eyes were concealed beneath his glasses, and the colors of his clothes were bland variations of brown and yellow. An overall boring boy if anyone had asked Bolt. "Can I help you?" she asked cordially when all the boy did was fidget and tug at his ears.

He visibly gulped, licking his lips before hesitantly speaking. "Uh, yeah. I've been sent from 'Hatten. We're, uh, we're planning on going on strike."

Bolt snorted, handing off a paper and receiving a penny in return from a passerby. "You're going on strike?"

The boy shrugged. "We're planning on it."

"Well what are you waiting for?" she asked mockingly, raising both brows in question.

The blonde boy scrunched his face. "We're trying to build our forces; we can't do it alone," he explained before reverting back to his nervous habits. "You know, I probably should speak to your leader."

Bolt rolled her eyes. "We're heading in the right direction. We'll find him soon. You're definitely going to need back up, what with the way you're acting."

The bespectacled newsboy narrowed his eyes. "We're going on strike. All for one."

Once again, Bolt rolled her eyes. "No need to get so defensive. I'm not so sure you're going to be able to pull it off, that's all."

Looking extremely annoyed at the pestering, the blonde boy sighed. "If we stand together we can—"

"Save it for Hawk," Bolt cut him off, selling her last paper before walking into _Skippy's_, the diner Staten Island's leader was known to frequent. She jutted her chin at the far corner where a group of boys were rowdily eating their food. "He's the one in green." She crossed her arms and stared at the newcomer, who was pulling at the collar of his undershirt. "You're burning daylight."

"Huh?" the boy jumped slightly. "Oh, right."

Bolt chewed impatiently on the inside of her cheek. "Follow me," she instructed, grabbing his upper arm and dragging him to the table, forcibly shoving him into a chair and placing both hands firmly on his shoulders. "This is…" Bolt pursed her lips. The two hadn't exchanged names. "…a boy from Manhattan. He's here to talk about going on strike."

Hawk, a lanky boy about seventeen with green eyes and auburn hair, narrowed his eyes at the newsboy that had disturbed the afternoon revelry. "Strike? Who are you to suggest a strike?"

Gulping, the boy glanced at the other few newsies that were seated around him. "I, uh, well, Jack Kelly sent me. He's the one suggesting we go on strike. I mean, I'm standing behind him. Jack's got a plan to get the newsboys their rights back."

"Back?" Hawk scoffed. "We never had any to begin with."

The boy scratched at his head. "Well yeah, that's what I meant."

"Nerves," Bolt shrugged. "You know how spineless that area of the state is."

Hawk smirked at the jab. "So Jack's planned the whole thing out…what did you say your name was?"

"Dutchy," was the response. He turned around in his chair, deliberately staring up at Bolt, who refused to take a seat. "And I do have a spine. So do the rest of us, or we wouldn't be going on strike."

"Prove it and talk," one of the newsies barked, causing Dutchy to spin back to face Hawk.

He took a deep breath and stared at the table. "Jack Kelly is aiming to go on strike. But we can't do it alone."

Hawk tilted his head backwards. "And what do the rest of the boroughs say?"

Dutchy furrowed his brow in confusion. "Well that's why I'm here. To see what you say. The boys are all throughout New York, seeing what others say."

Hawk shook his head. "I'm not agreeing to anything unless I know what Brooklyn is saying. Spot Conlon's got a good head about him. He's closer to the area anyway."

Dutchy gulped and removed his hat, swiping a hand through his hair. "Well…the strike…it'll change things everywhere! And Cowboy's over in Brooklyn talking to Spot right now."

Hawk raised an eyebrow. "So you don't know what any other borough thinks of this _plan_ of yours." It wasn't much of a question.

Dutchy fidgeted slightly in his chair, licking his lips. "Well no, but we're working on that—"

"And you haven't really got much information, hmm?" Hawk leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, fingers laced together.

Dutchy took another deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily, trying to collect his thoughts and formulate a coherent sentence. "Jack and Davey have it all worked out…" was the best he could come up with. He had, after all, only been sent to inform Staten Island of the strike. No other details had been offered him.

Hawk snickered, glancing around at his fellow paper-peddlers. He met Dutchy's eyes and frowned. "Go home," he ordered the blonde boy, who bolted out of his seat, slamming into the glass door before managing to escape to the outside. The bells hanging overhead chimed, and Hawk chuckled quietly, licking his lips before raising and eyebrow at Bolt. "What are you waiting for? Get to Brooklyn." He glanced around his circle of comrades. "Go!" he shouted, fist pounding down on the table.

There was a resounding groan that none of the newsies tried to hide from their leader. He already knew how much they disliked running from borough to borough, checking up on things, especially the boys and girls assigned to boroughs a greater distance away. Bolt was lucky she didn't have far to tread, but she was also the newsie that got to deal with Spot Conlon, which was a task not many people volunteered for. In fact, none of Hawk's newsies had volunteered for the position, and Bolt had found herself the unwilling go-between from Staten Island to Brooklyn.

With a slight huff, Bolt shuffled out the door of _Skippy's_, surrounded by the boys assigned to the other sections of New York. A few scampered down the road, setting out to inform other assigned newsies of the goings on. Bolt tromped towards the Narrows, shoving her hands deep into the recesses of her pockets after pulling the brim of her hat low on her head. Jinx, Knobs, and a few other acquaintances were nearby, all grumbling in low voices. Knobs was a particularly skilled grumbler, as the borough he had been appointed to was the farthest. "It ain't like the Bronx is really part of anything," he complained, kicking at a loose stone on the cobble streets.

Bolt glared straight ahead. Every time they were sent out, Knobs had to make some sort of fuss, whether it was about the heat, the cold, the time, the distance—it didn't matter: Knobs was sure to complain, and none of the boys and girls enjoyed hearing that all through their ferry ride. Smiling sweetly, Bolt spun around, walking backwards in order to face the moody newsboy. "Would you like to trade boroughs, Knobsy?" she asked in a faux-caring way.

Knobs quickly glanced up from the rock he had been punting, blinking in surprise. "But you've got Spot Conlon's territory…"

Bolt tilted her head. "That's right, I do. Now shut your trap." She swirled back around, shoving a shoe-shine out of her way as she continued down the road. Bolt was just as disgruntled with Hawk's arrangement as the other newsies. It wasn't that she minded the commute; Brooklyn was the nearest assigned area Hawk had any interest in, and Spot, though intimidating, was fair and reasonable. But these runs were at least once a week, if not more, due to Hawk's constant paranoia of being anything less than informed on everything, and after a while they began to be more than just a bother. Especially with Knobs insisting on verbally spouting his annoyance, at volumes high enough sometimes that Bolt swore the other boroughs knew they were on their way.

There was one last grumble about Bolt's attitude and then Knobs was quiet until they parted ways on the ferry, each newsie finding their own area to occupy for the short voyage. After hitting land, Jinx and Knobs went one way, the rest went the other, and Bolt traveled further into Brooklyn on a shortcut she had stumbled upon long ago. Or, as Spot told the story, was graciously informed of. Hands still buried in her pockets, Bolt kept her head ducked. Although she was a regular in the area now from the copious trips Hawk sent her on, she wasn't a local, and Brooklyn's working class wasn't always kind to their own, let alone a visitor.

Finally reaching the correct street, Bolt raised her eyes from the dull cobblestone, nodding her head in greeting to a few newsboys and girls she was familiar with. Clopping up the steps, she paused, glancing at the newsie perched on the wide railing. "One Lung, he in there?" she tilted her head at the building in question.

One Lung Pete blinked, a slow smirk crossing his cracked lips as he raised his eyes from the paper in his hands. "What do you think?" he shot back languidly in an unnaturally rough voice for a boy his age.

Bolt nodded. "Yeah, I figured as much." She shrugged, glancing at the highest window. "He's never gonna report the matron missing, is he?"

Pete snorted. "And he's never going to let any of us report it either." After the last matron ran off, Spot Conlon had neglected to inform anyone that the Brooklyn Lodging Establishment for boys no longer had anyone to oversee them. With this freedom, Spot was truly in charge of what went on, and he was taking full advantage of the time he had before the state figured it out.

Spot Conlon and Tricks Lopez were having sex. It was the typical way the leaders of Brooklyn and Queens spent their afternoons, sweating in his single room on the top floor of the lodging house. The heat rising from not only the weather, but their activities as well, until it felt as if they were not only consumed by pleasure, but an inferno. This did nothing to douse the two newsies' desires however, and they reveled in the unbearable temperature rise, lightheaded from dehydration and oxytocin.

Just outside the wooden door, Bolt leaned casually against the wall, picking at her dirty fingernails impatiently. She had half a mind to kick in the door and get things over with, but that hadn't worked out the first time she'd tried it, and, not wanting a repeat of the past, she stood silently, listening to the creak of the bed and the sounds of fucking teenagers. It wasn't anything new to Bolt, who'd experimented with guys her age as much as the next girl had. But the fact that the newsie Bolt had had her eyes on for quite a while was in the room with someone else, and she had to hear it, made her bristle in annoyance and discomfort.

There was a loud grunt, a bit of complaining, the creaking of the bed as it rocked, and then a final sigh before Bolt heard someone's footsteps heading towards the door. Spot, clad in white long-john bottoms and a key around his neck, rested his shoulder against the doorway, licking his lips and still trying to catch his breath. His hair was slicked back with sweat, and his chest was gleaming. "How's it rollin' Bolt?" he asked casually, not paying any attention to the fact that Bolt had her eyes glued on Tricks in disdain as she got dressed and slipped past the other two.

Bolt gulped at the up-down look Tricks gave her, a smirk crossing the Queen of Queens' lips before she trotted down the stairs, hands twisting her long, dark hair into a bun.

Spot snapped his fingers. "Bolt. What is it?" he repeated, this time annoyed at the fact that she hadn't answered the first time.

Finally returning her gaze to Spot's hazy eyes, Bolt cleared her throat. "The strike," she muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets and raising one eyebrow. "Hawk wants to know what you think about it."

Spot chuckled. "Hawk wants to know what I think about everything," the Brooklyn leader retorted before traipsing backwards into his room and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting up, he took a drag before handing it off to Bolt and replying. "I'm waiting to see if Jacky-boy is serious about his whole thing. If he ain't willing to put up a fight, I ain't willing to stake a claim."

Bolt twirled the light around her fingers for a moment before taking a small pull, puffing the smoke out in rings. "Great. Thanks," she offered in reply. Spot reached out for the smoke, but Bolt kept it a moment longer, placing it between her lips and taking in a long, slow drag. She grinned. "See you soon," she promised, handing the cigarette over, ghosting the smoke into her lungs.

Spot let the cigarette hang from his own lips. "Yeah, yeah. I'm sure something will get Hawk all up in arms within the next few hours and you'se'll be scrambling back." He smirked.

Bolt nodded. "As always," she added to Spot's statement.

Bolt stood awkwardly for just a moment, kicking at the wooden planks. "You sure you wanna be messing with Tricks?" she finally asked, although it was a worn out conversation between the girl and boy. "You know what she does on the side."

Spot exhaled, smoke rising above them. "Yeah, well. If it wasn't offered to me for free, I'd track her down. Get back home, Bolt, before you stick your nose too far into other people's business."

Bolt momentarily glared at Spot when he looked away, distracted by a fly that had made its way into the leader's room. "See ya," she grumbled, swiveling on her heel and making her way down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Sorry I take so long to update...I have way too many stories bouncing around in my head and I can never seem to buckle down and concentrate on just one. I wanted to get an update out within the next week however, because I'm going to be abroad for the next two to three weeks, and most definitely unable to use a computer during that time. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I own the newsies that Disney doesn't.

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><p>One Lung Pete often likened himself to the stone lions that prestigiously sat on either side of the Brooklyn courthouse steps. Only instead of a lion he was a scrappy newsboy, and instead of an immaculately constructed courthouse it was a slightly dilapidated lodging house for working boys. He glanced over his shoulder when the creak of the door opening and closing broke his concentration. He nodded at Bolt before returning to his handiwork: rolling a cigar.<p>

Bolt squinted up at the sky, her hands casually shoved into the pockets of her too-short pants, revealing the tiniest sliver of skin between her heavy socks and the ragged pant leg. She had been chastised more times than she could remember by the higher society that frequented New York's streets for the way she presented herself, but the fact remained: it was easier to get around when one didn't need to worry about the extra material of a skirt getting in the way.

Hopping on the ledge opposite Pete, she swung her legs back and forth, glancing him over. He had his cigar tucked securely away in the front breast pocket of his shirt and was currently experimenting with an old, beat-up harmonica, sniffing out notes to accompany the song in his head. And there they sat: two lion cubs abandoned on the streets of New York.

"Not that I don't like your company," Pete drawled once the sky began to take on a reddish hue. "But ain't it a little close to sunset?"

Bolt chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Yeah," she casually agreed, shrugging her shoulders and continuing to stare at the wispy clouds that floated lazily above them.

She slid from the stone slab she had adorned for the better part of an hour and nodded at her dirty companion in farewell. He touched the brim of his cap in response, and Bolt was off. Most days she could slip seemingly unnoticed past Brooklyn's borders and make her way to the ferry in relative peace. Today, however, Spot's right hand man, Blue, had other plans for the Staten native.

He cut off Bolt's path, stepping directly in front of her and taking on a rather predatory stance. He was wearing his trousers slung low on his hips, the off-white top of his long underwear visible due to the lack of Blue's shirt, which he held in his clenched fist. His suspenders dangled about his thighs and there was a smirk reminiscent of his leader's plastered onto his clean face. The newsies of Brooklyn were generally less dirty, due only to the fact that the docks were nearby, which Blue appeared to be returning from. "Where you headed, Bolt?" he asked in his slimy tone.

"Back to the island, Blue," she responded curtly, pursing her lips and staring up at him from under her lashes, chin down.

Blue stood his ground. "Aw, c'mon girl, why don't you stay in Brooklyn for a night? We ain't got a matron at the moment and my bed's got room for two," he informed her with a slick grin.

"You're not my type," Bolt snapped.

Before Blue had a chance to reply, an arm wrapped itself casually around Bolt's shoulder and the smooth voice of Jinx rose up. "Nah, Blue's just not appealing to anybody," he quipped, glancing down at Bolt with a friendly wink before meeting Blue's fierce eyes. "I'm sure you can afford to pay a girl to pretend." Jinx was the protective older brother of every newsie that had ever graced the paper peddling business on Staten. Of decent size and strong build, Jinx was always at ease no matter the situation. His nickname derived from the fact that he could practically tell you what you were thinking, word for word, with just a glance at your face.

Blue scowled, but stepped aside, allowing for the two shorter newsies to pass and continue on their way towards the docks, not wanting to start a fight, knowing full well that Spot would not be happy with such foolish antics.

Bolt shoved Jinx's arm away. "You don't constantly have to come to my rescue. I ain't a kid no more. I can take care of myself," she grumbled, hunching her shoulders and glaring straight ahead. She could appreciate Jinx's helping hand, but she could also loathe the fact that he thought she needed help. Despite Jinx being older, Bolt had lived on the streets for longer, and she prided herself on her survival.

Jinx shrugged, splaying his hands in joking surrender. "Just looked like you were in need of—"

"No, I wasn't," Bolt ground out between her teeth before Jinx had a chance to finish his sentence. She licked her lips, shoving her hands into the pockets of her pants and balling them into fists. "Blue's just a stupid boy."

Jinx tilted his head to the side and let out a chuckle. "Oh…I know what's wrong."

Bolt's cheeks reddened and she took a deep breath. "I don't know what you're talking about," she grumbled.

Jinx couldn't help but laugh. "Spot was with that girl again, wasn't he? You always get like this when you see them together."

Bolt pursed her lips. "Her name is Tricks, Jinx. She's not just some girl; she's the leader of Queens."

Jinx raised an eyebrow. "Either way, you always act all cranky after an encounter with them. If you're so head over heels for Spot, then why not just tell him. Or, if that's too embarrassing for you, we can always switch boroughs," he offered, although Jinx was really hoping he wouldn't have to become the new messenger between Brooklyn and Staten Island. Even Jinx got a little nervous around Spot Conlon.

Bolt whipped her head around to face Jinx. "I _don't_ like Spot," she insisted, annoyance flashing in her eyes.

Jinx smirked to himself, not wanting to push her buttons any further than they already were. "Whatever you say, Bolt," he sighed, offering his hand to help her board the ferry.

Bolt completely ignored him, irritated by his assumption that she was interested in Spot.

.

Knobs McClure did not make it back to Staten until a few evenings later, face aglow with excitement. "Oh, there's gonna be a strike, alright," he informed everyone huddled outside the distribution center, the meeting place for the island's newsies.

Bolt was leaning against one of the lampposts, arms crossed and face completely bland of emotion, although her eyebrows steadily rose the more Knobs spoke. Jinx was picking at the dirt beneath his fingernails, seemingly not paying attention to a word, while the rest of the newsies hung on everything the grungy newsboy was spewing. Hawk was looking extremely displeased that his messengers were bringing back so many different tales, which meant he had no solid ground on which to stand when it came time to make a decision. He couldn't follow the crowd, because there was no crowd, and he certainly didn't want to pick the losing side. The newsboys and girls of New York were a tough bunch, but they most certainly wouldn't be able to stand up against authorities that were better prepared to take them down.

He scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat, preparing to speak. "So what you're saying is that Manhattan refused to buy papes, made a mess of everything, lost one of their own, and are now determined more than ever to strike, despite having no backing?" he reiterated.

Knobs couldn't help but squirm, a grin spreading across his face, making him appear clownish. No one had ever seen Knobs so happy in his entire life, so what he was about to say must have been stirring, to say the least. "That ain't all. After that, Jacky-boy and his newsies got into it again, but this time they'd bit off more than they could chew. That warden guy and a few of his cronies were waiting for 'em, ready to give 'em a real good beating, you know? But guess who showed up and saved the day? C'mon, guess! I'll give you a clue—"

"Just say it," Hawk snapped, not wanting to wait much longer for the information.

Knobs gulped, licking his lips and becoming noticeably less chipper. "Brooklyn. They all popped outta nowhere and scared off all of the warden's men. It was great!"

Hawk pursed his lips. "How exactly do you know all of this, Knobs?" he questioned, knowing Knobs was never meant to be in Manhattan.

Knobs blinked. "Well I, uh, I was taking a short cut, you know? And I was passing by the distribution center and—"

"So it's true then?" Hawk requested. "Not something fabricated in the mind of an excited youngster you met along the way?" Although this appeared to be a jab at Knobs' previous behavior, it was also a serious question being posed.

Knobs blushed profusely. "It's all true, Hawk. Every word; I swear. I ran straight here after everything happened," he insisted, licking his lips earnestly.

Hawk turned his head to stare at Bolt, who seemed to be in shock. "Spot…Spot said he wasn't gonna do anything," she sputtered. "I mean…he said he wasn't interested in anything until they proved they were serious…" And clearly Spot took this uprising as serious business. She took a deep breath, still uncertain as of what Hawk expected her to do. "I swear he said—"

"We're travelling to Brooklyn tomorrow, Bolt. You and I," he decided, speaking as though the idea had just popped into his head.

Bolt gulped. Although she was one of Hawk's closest newsies, she never spent much time around him. Being social was never one of her specialties. She nodded gravely, glancing around at the newsboy faces.

"So I suggest you get some sleep," he said in a commanding tone. "We'll meet here and then head out. And I don't want to hear you complaining about another day of sales going down the drain, got it?"

Bolt stared at the ground, nodding again. "See you then," she stated, shoving her hands into her pockets and waiting until Hawk adjourned the meeting before heading back with the scant amount of female newsies.

Star, a girl known best for the kind of work she did in back rooms and in the dead of the night, nearly swooned as soon as they got out of earshot of the boys. "You get to spend the entire day with Hawk," she reiterated, hand over her heart, blue eyes twinkling with undeniable envy. "Oh what I'd give to spend a day—or even a night—with the likes of him," she sighed breathlessly, receiving a snicker from Ember, the third and final newsgirl of Staten Island.

"You're always going on about spending the night with someone," Ember pointed out with a roll of her eyes. "Sometimes I think you should just switch full time to your other 'profession'."

Star pursed her lips and glared over at Ember and Star, her blonde hair cascading around her rosy cheeks. "I don't care for it that much. I just like to voice who I _wish_ would show up," she spat. "Just because you two feel you're able to support yourselves with what you make selling papes, doesn't mean that I feel the same way. I'm going to get out of this place someday, and I need more money than a hundred papes gets me in a day."

Bolt shrugged her shoulders. "Well you're more than welcome to take my place, Star." She wasn't interested in spending the entire day with three leaders, as Bolt had the feeling Tricks would somehow show up the next day, as was the usual case.

Star huffed. "As if I want to be around the likes of Tricks Lopez," she snarled, reading Bolt's mind. Everyone knew that Spot and Tricks had an unholy union. "I want to be with a boy because I want to be, not so that he'll protect my territory."

Ember raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? That ain't why they're together all the time."

Star snorted. "She's fucking Spot Conlon. No one is going to mess with her, or her territory, or her newsies."

"That's why she's doing it?" Ember asked skeptically, pulling a cigarette from her pocket and slipping it between her lips.

"No that's not why she's doing it. She's not that cunning," Star replied in annoyance, as though Ember were completely blind to what was completely obvious. "She's doing it for the pleasure and the feeling of power she gets from being with Brooklyn's leader. But just because she doesn't realize the importance of their fornication, it doesn't mean other newsies are as blind."

"Then how can you accuse her for being with Spot just to protect Queens?" Bolt inquired. "You're contradicting yourself Star; maybe you should just stick to laying on your back instead of using your mouth."

"How dare you-!" Star began to squeal in indignation, but Ember punched her in the arm, nodding at the front door of the Staten Island's Girl's House, in which they were required to use indoor voices and not go out after curfew, which was rapidly approaching. Star clenched her fists. "At least I don't dress in men's clothing," she hissed at the two of them as they made their way up the stairs. "Neither of you are ever going to make a decent wife to anyone. Not that anyone will be interested in making you their wives, what with your attire."

"You're quite right," Ember agreed with a grin. "Men much prefer whores." And with that, Ember opened the front door, and any argument that had been going came to an abrupt halt, as the sisters that took care of the orphaned girls of Staten Island had no patience for the discussion of their girls' less than saintly jobs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This chapter is slightly shorter and not a whole lot happens, but hopefully you enjoy it anyway. You get to see more of Hawk's character, and I kind of like Hawk a lot, so there. :P

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of Disney's newsies.

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><p>Bolt felt as though she had barely set her head on the pillow when morning arrived and there was a rap on the window of the girls' room at the Staten Island Home for Girls. A collective groan swept throughout the room, sans Star who jumped up in delight to greet Hawk. It was not unusual for him to summon his newsgirls in such a way at such an ungodly hour, but his handsome face, although typically set in a stern grimace, allowed for him to get away without nary a girl turning him into the sisters that patrolled the building.<p>

Star opened the window quickly and ushered the leader in, positively beaming, her long hair flowing over her cream-stained nightgown—the only thing of her mother's she still had—and clasped her hands together, as though Hawk was there to personally deliver some sort of mission for her. Bolt pouted her bottom lip and sat up in bed, narrowing her eyes in Hawk's direction. He knew the exact bed she slept in due to the many visits he paid when he needed her to run a message here and there, and headed to the small cot shoved into the far corner.

"You said to meet you at the distribution center," Bolt grumbled, refusing to get out from beneath the warmth of the covers and the quilted blanket the nuns had made for each and every girl. Bolt's was adorned with the story of Noah's Ark, animals parading across the fabric.

Hawk continued to advance towards her. "You were taking too long," he informed her, standing tall at the side of the bed.

Bolt stared up at him, allowing her dislike for being woken so early to emanate from her eyes. She let out a small huff before pulling the blankets back and slipping from the thin mattress. She raised an eyebrow and crankily asked, "Are you expecting a show?"

Hawk, knowing that his foremost messenger quite disliked early mornings and being woken up, let her remark slide. "I'll be on the steps. Five minutes." And with that, he slipped out of the window to allow Bolt and the rest of the girls who were now awake to dress in peace.

Star deflated as soon as Hawk disappeared, flopping forlornly back down onto the bed. "Oh Bolt, I envy you," she mewed, face propped up in her hands.

Bolt rolled her eyes before pulling on the same clothes she had worn for the past few years. New clothes were a rarity, and with only three total outfits Bolt considered herself extremely lucky. Everything was a hand-down from someone or a donation to the house, but clothes were clothes and not to be rejected no matter the size or shape. Thus, Bolt was typically adorned in button-ups that were much too short at the arms and pants that were much too large around the girth. Overalls were truly wasted on Bolt, as she hardly ever slung them over her shoulders, instead allowing them to hang around her legs. Today, however, knowing that the journey would be long, she hoisted one side—and only one side—up and over.

She nodded at the girls, particularly Star since Ember had gone back to sleep, and disappeared out the window in the same way that Hawk had. She padded around to the front of the building, where Hawk was waiting in the exact place he had told her he would be, leaning against the brick and slowly puffing on a cigar. Hawk figured that when you were as down and out as the newsies were they may as well allow themselves to experience some sort of class, and because of that theory Hawk only smoked cigarettes when he had absolutely no way of buying—or getting by any means possible—a cigar.

Bolt shoved her hands into her pockets and placed her weight on one leg, sticking the opposite one a little further out for balance, and waited impatiently for Hawk to acknowledge her or give some sort of instruction. He let out a small gust of smoke before shoving off of the wall and walking in the direction of the ferry. Bolt pursed her lips and flanked him, not wanting to walk directly beside or behind him. It was going to be an extraordinarily long day.

They arrived at about noon, which was good because it meant less newsboys would be hovering around the lodging house and Spot would be upstairs with his usual girl, Tricks. Bolt became surlier by the minute, her mouth puckering and her shoulders hunching as the seconds ticked by. Hawk, who had no concern about interrupting Spot's afternoon schedule, knocked hard on the door and crossed his arms, waiting. From inside there was a groan of annoyance, not pleasure, and Spot yelled from the opposite side of the door. Hawk wasn't having any of it. He wasn't one of Spot's newsies and regarded himself as an equal, although Spot was much more infamous. "Get your lily-white ass out here, Conlon," he yelled, although there was the hint of a grin on his face as he said this. Suffice it to say, Spot and Hawk had been friends since a tender age, and neither worried too much about how the other was going to react to any insulting statement between them. They were serious about their duty to their boroughs, but having allies was just as important.

Recognizing Hawk's voice, Spot sighed in momentary defeat, although he wouldn't call it that, because Spot Conlon was never defeated, and shrugged down at Tricks, who was gaping up at the newsboy. "Spot!" she called as he slid off the bed and retrieved his pants from across the room, opening the door and smirking good-naturedly at Hawk before they spit-shook like the old pals that they were. Tricks pulled the sheets around her, eyebrows knit tightly, growling under her breath when she saw Hawk and Bolt.

"Oh good, I was expecting you to be around," Hawk informed the girl that was stranded in the large bed Spot had somehow been able to find and use.

If Tricks Lopez would ever blush, now would be the time, but she prided herself too much for that obviously embarrassed cheek hue, and instead raised an eyebrow as if to say "Is there a problem with my being around?"

Glancing over his shoulder at Bolt, who was trying to look as bland and bored as possible while seething on the inside at the sight of Tricks in Spot's bed, Hawk blinked. "There're chairs downstairs," he commented.

Bolt raised an eyebrow in confusion until she realized that she wasn't going to be allowed to listen in on what the leaders were speaking of. Her jaw dropped in shock. She was trusted by Spot and Hawk—and even Tricks—and yet she wasn't going to be able to even stand in a corner. She gulped before nodding, always doing as Hawk wished, and clopping down the stairs. As was expected, none of the newsboys were in the vicinity and Bolt felt a horrible loneliness overcome her. She wasn't a very social girl, but even she didn't like sitting around in an empty room when it wasn't her own personal decision.

Upstairs Hawk stepped out of the room, allowing for the door to be closed for five minutes so that both Spot and Tricks could properly clothe themselves for the upcoming conversation that was about to take place. Unlike Spot, Hawk didn't use his leadership as a way to get girls into bed. It wasn't that he didn't have the chance, because he had many young women flocking to him, although most tried to keep their attraction subtle and appropriate. It was that Hawk didn't want anything distracting him from his borough. He was constantly gathering information about opposing boroughs and what they were doing in their lodging houses and what their situation was and how they were handling every single tiny detail of every single tiny part of every single day. Hawk needed information in order to feel as though he was doing his job, and girls were just an unnecessary additive to his life. He'd had his own crushes before, and he'd had the occasional lustful dream, and on particular nights after a party he'd end up with a girl if the alcohol in his system felt so inclined, but more or less, Hawk was concerned with two things: his borough and the newsies living in it.

The creak of the hinges hinted that Spot and Tricks were ready, and Hawk stepped lightly over the threshold. Spot was standing just inside the room with a stoic aura about him, and Tricks was leaning against the end of the bed, agitation clear upon her face. "What did you need, Hawk?" Spot asked, knowing that it had to be serious. Although Spot and Hawk got along, Hawk only showed up for parties and special occasions that involved something important.

"I hear you're joining Cowboy's strike," he spoke plainly, raising his eyebrows in question.

It was plain to see that this was news to Tricks, whose jaw had fallen slack, her eyes glued to the back of Spot. "What?" she asked, her eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle of her forehead. "Since when was that decided?"

Spot turned his torso to face the leader of Queens. "I sleep with you; I don't strategize with you," he said quite bluntly before returning his attention back on Hawk and shrugging his shoulders. "Jacky-boy made a real go at it," he explained. "Took on the paper sellers and would have taken on the goons too, but we stepped in just for some fun. He means business. There's a rally at Irving Hall tomorrow night. The news is probably on its way to Staten as we speak."

Hawk took a deep breath, hating that he was going to have to hear such news from one of his own newsies and not the actual Manhattan messenger. Licking his lips he glanced between the two. Spot may have just slighted Tricks, but she was still a leader of a borough and her opinion on the matter was important to Hawk. "What are you two doing then?" he asked.

Spot stood silently, as did Tricks, who seemed to be waiting for Spot's answer. "We'll have to see," he spoke in a slightly grave tone. "See who shows up to the rally. Feel the mood. Think it over. There's other options."

Hawk let his eyes slip back to Tricks, but it was obvious that she was fixating on what Spot said. Most newsie leaders did what Spot did, but that was because he was calculating, not because they were necessarily trying to please him. Taking another deep breath, Hawk nodded. "I'll see you both in Manhattan then." He touched the brim of his hat and spun on his heel, letting himself out.

Bolt had been watching a fly spin aimlessly around the room when she heard footsteps tromping down the stairs. She sat up a little straighter and blinked in surprise at Hawk. Usually he didn't go all the way to a borough for such a short meeting, but apparently he had gotten what he wanted and was ready to go. His face was sharp and she couldn't quite tell what he was thinking. She stood from her chair and followed him, as he made no sign of stopping and waiting for her as he headed directly for the door.

Hawk needed to get back to his own borough. He wanted to beat the messenger from Manhattan, no matter how impossible that may be. He needed his information.


End file.
